


I can't take much more of your hesitating

by playexodus



Series: dedicated [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, I never want to do anything like this again, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Time Skip, So much pining on Sakusa's end, This is just one long fic where I project my Atsumu thirst onto Sakusa, a failed attempt at humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playexodus/pseuds/playexodus
Summary: The curved sides of Atsumu’s pecs peek through that absurd tank top at just the right angle. Sakusa swallows. “Your entire chest is hanging out of that shirt. We’re in public. You could at least pretend to be a decent, morally upright person. Not to mention that this Los Angeles beach boy aesthetic is terrible on you.”Glancing back down at Atsumu’s chest to glare at his sharp, glistening collarbones is a bad idea. Sakusa wills his eyes to stay fixated on Atsumu’s face.As it turns out, this too, is a bad idea.“Oh?” Atsumu turns his half-lidded gaze onto Sakusa, the corners of his mouth curling. “Just to be clear: you’redefinitely notenjoying the view then, Omi-Omi?”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: dedicated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839310
Comments: 30
Kudos: 919
Collections: Sakuatsu





	I can't take much more of your hesitating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akanemnida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akanemnida/gifts).



> hello. this is my first solid fic ever, and it's been a while since I wrote any piece of fiction seriously, but I've got atsumu brainrot and it all has to go somewhere. sorry if it's out of character. 
> 
> inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/akaashiswifey/status/1271262967905095685?s=20) !
> 
> thanks to my wonderful betas, luwa and angela, for reassuring me that this wasn't complete dogshit :)
> 
> title is from "felt this way" by carly rae jepsen - it's the perfect sakuatsu song, please give it a listen!

**May 14th - MSBY Black Jackals Dormitory**

Quiet mornings at the Black Jackals’ dorm complex are one of Sakusa’s favourite things about his life. At 6:30 am, the sunlight casts a subtle yellow glow over everything, and Sakusa can sit on the second floor balcony with his cup of green tea, watching the city wake up. Today though, he’s running a little behind, and the streets are already getting busy by the time he sits on his chair. 

Someone approaches the dorm gates at a light jog. _That’s new_ , Sakusa thinks - typically players don’t go out in the mornings after 7, to avoid getting recognized. Craning his neck, he leans on the railing and looks over to wave. 

That’s when he sees the mop of mustard yellow hair on the jogger’s head, and freezes, one hand in the air. Quickly, he withdraws, leaning into the shadows of the balcony, but Atsumu’s still in his field of vision. 

Sakusa’s breath cuts short. Atsumu is wearing the tightest t-shirt he’s ever seen.

The ridges and outlines of Atsumu’s chest stand out in full relief through the material. His biceps flex as his arms lift, fall, lift, fall. The long lines of his legs, the clench of his calves as he shifts his weight - all of it takes up every remaining ounce of Sakusa’s attention. Something rises from his stomach, coating his throat with fire. 

Sweat trickles down the sides of Atsumu’s face, running down his throat, pooling in the hollow between his collarbones.

Sakusa, who can barely stand skin-to-skin contact with another human being, wants to put his mouth there. 

His eyes close. _No more of this_ , he insists to his brain. Predictably, his brain does not listen. He’s lost this game before it’s even started. It’ll take a few weeks before he realizes that, though. 

**May 20th - MSBY Black Jackals Training Facilities**

“What is that.” Sakusa says flatly.

Atsumu has the gall to look confused. “What?”

“What are you wearing.”

“Whaddya mean? It’s our team shirt, we’ve all got ‘em, they sell ’em at our games-”

“I know what our team t-shirts look like, Miya,” Sakusa grits through his teeth. “I’m talking about what you’ve done with it.”

The oversized official MSBY Black Jackals t-shirt hangs on Atsumu’s lean, lithe frame, just a little loose. But not only has he snipped off the sleeves - he’s torn out the sides as well, making unreasonably large armholes that stretch to his hips. Unfortunately for Sakusa, it’s particularly windy today and the shirt-turned-tank-top keeps shifting and fluttering, to the point where most of Atsumu’s torso is on display as they walk to the dorms together. Sakusa’s seen Atsumu’s body before, glimpsed it in the change room, but this...this is different. He knows it as well as he knows the buzz that settles under his skin when Atsumu sends him a beautiful toss, as well as he knows the rush in his veins when Atsumu smiles at him after a good spike, instead of going in for a high-five. And after Sakusa’s reaction to seeing him in his jogging clothes a week ago, there aren’t many explanations left for these aforementioned feelings.

The curved sides of Atsumu’s pecs peek through that absurd tank top at just the right angle. Sakusa swallows. “Your entire chest is hanging out of that shirt. We’re in public. You could at least pretend to be a decent, morally upright person. Not to mention that this Los Angeles beach boy aesthetic is terrible on you.”

Glancing back down at Atsumu’s chest to glare at his sharp, glistening collarbones is a bad idea. Sakusa wills his eyes to stay fixated on Atsumu’s face.

As it turns out, this too, is a bad idea. 

“Oh?” Atsumu turns his half-lidded gaze onto Sakusa, the corners of his mouth curling. “Just to be clear: you’re _definitely not_ enjoying the view then, Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa is currently inhabiting the 12th circle of hell. There is simply no other explanation for his current situation. Not while he keeps catching glimpses of Atsumu’s pink nipple out of the corner of his eye, even as the look in Atsumu’s eyes is holding him in place. It takes a Herculean amount of effort for Sakusa to scoff: “The _view_? It’s nothing special.”

He regrets the words immediately. The glint that appears in Atsumu’s eyes is terrifying beyond reason. “Nothing special, eh?” Atsumu repeats, his voice going sweet as syrup. “Y’know exactly how much I hate hearing that, even if you’re lyin’, don’tcha?” 

Sakusa tears his eyes away. This is bad. “Don’t take it personally, Miya. There are families with children in the area. You should dress properly.”

“Why would I take it personally?” Atsumu says, as they arrive at the front gates of their dorms. “I’ve never taken anything personally my whole life.” The grin on his face is stretched wider than anything Sakusa has seen in a while. “See ya later, Omi-kun!” 

Something stirs in Sakusa’s stomach. The sad little jingle that plays when Mario loses a life in _Super Mario Galaxy 2_ rings through his head, unbidden, and then he knows he’s fucked.

(To no one’s surprise, Atsumu makes sure to wear the same hideous tank tops every single day after that.)

**June 30th - MSBY Black Jackals Team and Staff Dinner**

Sakusa wanders into the conference hall, his tie closing uncomfortably around his throat. He’s coiffed his hair into a carefully managed mess to give off the impression he’d tried, but even the dabs of concealer aren’t enough to lighten the dark circles under his eyes. Sleep was a stranger yet again, over the last few weeks, as his thoughts spun increasingly out of his control. Day after day of scorching summer heat meant day after day of suffering through Atsumu’s horrible fashion sense that left very little to the imagination. Even as the exhaustion of constant training was starting to hit, the image of Atsumu’s chest, rivulets of sweat trickling down to his hips, refuses to leave his mind. 

But the last few days, things were different. Sakusa’s sure that it’s not noticeable for anyone else, but he can _feel_ it. Atsumu’s stopped wearing those incredibly tight shirts and terribly revealing muscle tanks, and every toss he sends to Sakusa is followed with an achingly polite _nice kill_. Sakusa opens and closes his fist. Atsumu is not polite. Atsumu is a raging asshole. Sakusa knows this, the same way he knows the distance between them is _wrong_. 

“Sakusa-san!” Shoyo interrupts his train of thought. “Come sit!” Sakusa hesitates, palming his pockets for a handkerchief. Shoyo notices.“Don’t worry, Bokuto-san asked to have the table and chairs wiped down before you got here,” he whispers. “Should be clean as a whistle.” 

All at once, Sakusa is terribly, terribly grateful for his teammates. With all his exhaustion and prickly personality, they’re still willing to take him on. He’s even grateful for Miya Atsumu, who sets his skin alight, pushing him to the edge of his own universe and then into the next. 

“Thanks, Bokuto. I appreciate it.” Bokuto, sitting on Hinata’s other side, rewards him with a beatific smile, and turns to finish his conversation with Adriah. 

The door to the conference hall opens, and then: “Atsumu-san!” Shoyo exclaims. “You’re here! And you look amazing!”

Atsumu is dressed to the nines in a burgundy three-piece suit, gold cufflinks glinting in the light. It’s just a team dinner and overdressing should not look cool and effortless right now, but Atsumu makes it seem that way. Sakusa’s blood rushes to his head and he takes back his earlier feelings of gratitude for the demon that Miya Atsumu is. Never did he think he’d actually miss those ugly Los Angeles beach boy tank tops. The suit fits Atsumu’s broad shoulders like it was made for him (which it probably was), and even Atsumu’s piss yellow head of hair is slicked back, with a few tantalizing strands hanging over his forehead. 

“Thanks, Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu says with his trademark crooked grin. “You too.” He doesn’t look at Sakusa before taking a seat beside Meian. “Been lookin’ forward to seein’ everyone all dolled up,” he adds. Bokuto and Shoyo agree, whining about having to sit through thank you speeches and the other nonsense before they could mingle with everyone. 

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. Sakusa picks at his food, but eats when Meian looks pointedly at him. He’s able to make it through several stilted conversations with the coaches and medical staff, and then he makes his way to the bar for a glass of water. It just so happens that Atsumu is already there, deep in conversation with one of the team’s physical therapists. 

“Ah, speaking of joint flexibility exercises, Sakusa-san should be able to tell you more about that! He doesn’t even need us to instruct him anymore,” the woman laughs. Sakusa forces a polite smile. “Thank you, but I still have much to learn,” he says. She waves him off, and then excuses herself, mentioning something about the kids waiting at home. Atsumu turns to him, and Sakusa thinks anyone would be able to tell the smile on Atsumu’s face is feigned. He’s been avoiding him - there’s no doubt in Sakusa’s mind anymore. 

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu greets him, that wily smirk pasted onto his face as though it were etched on with permanent marker. He licks his lips. “You clean up real nice, y’know? We should have these team dinners more often.” 

Suddenly, Sakusa is so, so tired. He still feels like his face is blazing, like it’s written all over his face, that he wants - he wants. Atsumu is the enigma that has followed him around for the better part of his life, twisting his brain into wondering if left was right and if gravity was real. Sakusa, who takes comfort in consistency, who craves stability and routine, has been playing this game at Atsumu’s pace. He’s been tilting his own world, _willingly_ , just for a piece of what Atsumu’s prepared to offer him. The realization burns in some unnamed place tucked behind his lungs. 

“Enough, Miya,” Sakusa says, and he can’t help the exhaustion that bleeds through his voice. He turns away even as he sees the shock take over Atsumu’s face, even as he knows he’s giving himself away. He walks over to Meian, apologizing for interrupting, and says quietly, “I think I’m gonna head out, if that’s okay. I’ll see everyone tomorrow.” He doesn’t know if Meian responds or not. Taking long strides to the exit, he doesn’t look back.

**June 30th (Post-dinner) - MSBY Black Jackals Dormitory**

There’s a knock at Sakusa’s door. He opens it and regrets it immediately.

“No,” Sakusa says, before Atsumu can say anything. Sakusa doesn’t even look at him as he moves to close the door, but Atsumu wedges his foot in to stop him. 

“Sakusa,” he says, almost...almost pleadingly, and Sakusa stops trying to close the door on him. “I’ve got something to tell ya. Will ya hear me out, at least?”

What can Sakusa do, then, but relent and let him in?

Atsumu looks like he’s come straight from the team dinner, his once-crisp suit crumpled a little, black leather shoes scuffed at the corners. His tie is half undone, the top buttons of his shirt revealing that awful, awful hollow at the base of his throat. Painfully handsome. Sakusa is going to be sick all over the floor. Atsumu takes off his shoes, placing them outside his door alongside Sakusa’s shoes, then walks in. Sakusa grabs the hand sanitizer on the table and gestures to him to hold out his hands. It doesn’t escape him that Atsumu does all of this without a single snarky remark.

“You’ve got 5 minutes, Miya.” Sakusa can’t look at him, so he focuses on a spot past Atsumu’s shoulder on the wall. 

Atsumu inhales carefully. “I’m sorry. I dunno what I did, but I am. I never wanted to hurt you. I want the opposite of that. I want-” He makes a strangled noise, falling silent. “I can’t keep pretending around you anymore. You make it impossible, when I feel-” Again, he can’t finish his sentence. 

This is new. This is different. Sakusa is curious, so he slowly drags his gaze from the wall, meeting Atsumu’s eyes. 

Atsumu is _blushing_. 

Brash, brazen Miya Atsumu is refusing to look Sakusa Kiyoomi in the eye. His mouth twists into some unrecognizable shape, his cheeks flooding with colour. Something shifts between them, and Sakusa’s exhaustion, fear, anger, tension - all of it - evaporates. 

“Tell me,” he says softly.

“C’mon, Omi-kun.” Atsumu’s voice retains its usual self-assured lilt, even as he avoids looking directly at Sakusa. “S’not like ya need me to point out the obvious.”

“It hasn’t been obvious to _me_ up until 60 seconds ago.”

At that, Atsumu scoffs, finally tilting his head up. “Are ya seriously gonna punish me ‘cause you’ve been oblivious? It’s not my fau-”

“-Yes,” Sakusa interrupts, firm. “Prancing around in those fucking tank tops and skin tight shirts, torturing me on purpose-” Atsumu laughs, then says, “I really didn’t think any of that was working, y’know. I pulled out all the tricks I had, and I couldn’t get a reaction outta ya, other than the usual ‘Put on some clothes, Miya,’ so I nearly gave up.”

Sakusa barely stops his lips from curving into a smile, the buzz under his skin roaring like it never has before. “I didn’t realize I was doing such a good job of pretending I didn’t notice. I thought you knew exactly how much - exactly how I felt, and you were just trying to get under my skin. As usual.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Atsumu grins, and Sakusa’s breath actually catches in his throat. It’s a real smile, as real as any that he’s seen on Atsumu’s face since they first met. “That damn all-black look you wore today was just as bad, y’know. I might’ve thought you were trying to fuck with _me_.”

“Hardly. Now do you have something to tell me, or are you gonna let me sleep in peace?” Sakusa says, finally unable to suppress the corner of his mouth from lifting. 

And that’s when Atsumu’s deadly gaze returns. Sakusa’s stomach drops to his knees. It’s a good feeling. “I think,” Atsumu says carefully, “either way, ya won’t be sleeping tonight.” He grins, deceptively soft, and curves his arms around Sakusa’s neck, leaning into his ear. “Kiyoomi,” he breathes. “I like you. I like you so much.” 

**July 7th - Day 3 of the Black Jackals training camp. One week into Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu’s relationship.**

Atsumu can’t. He cannot. He cannot do this. 

“Miya-san?” Shoyo stands beside him, looking worried. “You’re shaking a little. Is something wrong with Sakusa-san?”

“ _Sakusa-san_?” Atsumu has to laugh. The sound comes out slightly hysterical. “What could be wrong with _Omi_?”

“...I’m not sure? But isn’t that why you keep looking at him? You’ve been doing that every day since this training week started.” Shoyo adds tentatively. On any other day, Atsumu would affectionately think the scrunch forming between Shoyo’s brows is cute. On any other day. 

Atsumu musters up enough composure to answer. “Nah, nothin’s wrong. I’ll be there in a sec.” Shoyo nods, though he doesn’t look reassured, as he joins the rest of the Black Jackals and walks into the practice centre. 

Atsumu takes in a deep, steadying breath. He can do this. He can handle this. He is THE Miya Atsumu, tri-wielder and one of the nation’s top volleyball players, setter for one of the best te-

“...Miya?” Sakusa calls, expression innocently blank as he opens the door for Atsumu. “Why aren’t you coming? We have to actually go into the practice centre to get started, you know.”

“Son of a bitch,” Atsumu mutters. 

“What was that?”

Atsumu considers saying “nothing”. But things are different now.

“I said, ‘If ya insist on wearing skin tight muscle tank tops every day just to get back at me, I might start leavin’ semi-permanent marks all over yer chest, Omi.’”

Much to Atsumu’s surprise, Sakusa’s eyes are crinkling at the edges, a tell-tale sign that he’s smiling under his surgical mask. “ _Finally_ ,” he says, like he’s been made to wait for far too long. Then, deliberate and tantalizing, he leans in close, “Have you considered that that’s _exactly_ what I want?”

Sparks set off in Atsumu’s lungs and the laughter explodes from his mouth, half in shock, half in awe, all in love. Will he ever get tired of this? _Never, never, never._ He reaches out, pulls Sakusa in and kisses his lips over the mask. “Later.”

It’s a promise he intends to keep. 

[end.]

**Author's Note:**

> ahahaha. I'm ashamed of myself. anyways. find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ultimatehinata) and please leave comments and kudos, I will treasure them all.
> 
> finally, thank you to akane for fuelling my atsumu brainrot over the last few days. bless your atsumu simp soul. hope you enjoyed.


End file.
